


romance walking through the middle of the street

by hopefulundertone



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulundertone/pseuds/hopefulundertone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No, no, I don't want to interrupt the moment. This is when you two start to fall in love.”<br/>Patrick turned beet red. Pete’s grin became a genuine smile. “Really?!”<br/>“Yep.” Joe crawled over the seat’s back and sat opposite them. “You're gonna fall head-over-heels and have lots of great sex, and then Pete, you're gonna propose onstage in front of millions of screaming fans, and Patrick will cry a little bit, and you'll have a spring wedding and Andy will be the bridesmaid, and—” </p><p>Based on talking_tina's au where the band has powers and Joe psychically predicts their marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	romance walking through the middle of the street

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i’m not complainin’ that it’s rainin’ (i’m just saying that i like it a lot)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/727027) by [talking_tina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talking_tina/pseuds/talking_tina). 



> so i read talking_tina's fic and fell in love, but bc im shipping trash i monopolised on psychic joe.
> 
> go read her fic! (and the rest of her stuff it's so good) summary: So an insomniac with ESP, a cursed vegan with super-strength, a psychic pothead, and some guy in argyle got locked out of a van in the rain...

"So, for our last song, we're going to be singing Saturday, from our first album." Pete blinked sweat out of his eyes as he yelled into his mike, revelling in the deafening cheers of the fans; it looked like half of Chicago had turned out to see them, the little pop punk band that made it big, singing back to their roots. Glancing over at Patrick, he couldn't help a grin bubbling through, ecstatic and adrenaline-fuelled, and saw the smile mirrored back, the open joy on Patrick's face stealing his breath every damn time.

Pete's gaze shifted down to where a glint of metal showed around Patrick's finger, and he swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat, ignoring Joe's knowing gaze. They'd been engaged for about two years (officially at least, their friends would say they'd been engaged ever since they'd met; to be sure, that was when Pete had sworn to cling to his tiny singer and never let go) but it still gave him chills to remember that Pete was allowed to have Patrick.  As Andy began beating the shit out of his drums (specially reinforced for this reason), he bent his head, focusing on hitting the right chords on his bass and not the small box burning a hole in his jacket pocket.   
Definitely not focusing on that.   
Pete surveyed the crowd, which was going wild as Patrick's voice enchanted them all, and nodded discreetly to the less obvious, more translucent visitors, turned out for this occasion (despite Pete's fervent reassurances that no, they really didn't need to be here for this, please). They slid through the crowd, unnoticed by any fans save a few, watching the performance with varying levels of enthusiasm. An old woman, spectacles hanging off the bridge of her nose, smiled kindly at him, while an elderly man, standing just behind her, gave him an encouraging thumbs up. Pete decided it was as much of a sign as he was going to get, and cast a look back at Joe, who nodded, grin so wide it seemed to stretch from ear to ear.   
Taking a deep breath, Pete slid forward, dropping to his knees in front of Patrick, who looked bemused but mostly unshaken; his reputation for trying to mess with his favourite lead singer preceded him, it seemed. Well, not for long.   
"...me and Pete, in the wake of Saturday..."  
Pete fumbled for the little black box in his pocket, and brought it out, snapping it open with a flourish that rocketed straight past suave into awkward.  
Later, they would post an explanation on their website full of bullshit about pyrotechnics and stage mechanics and trapdoors, but only the four of them would ever really know why Patrick, shocked out of singing, tumbled through the stage floor and popped up a moment later, teary eyed and still gaping.   
"Fucking hell, Pete, this had better not be a fucking joke."  
"I think the proper response is, 'yes Pete, I will marry your handsome ass right now.'" Pete lifted a dry eyebrow, and would probably have added more about how offended he was that Patrick thought he'd joke about something like this if his mouth hadn't suddenly been captured by the guy himself in what was possibly the filthiest kiss he'd ever had.   
Like, ever.   
Patrick drew back, discreetly wiping his eyes, and Pete grinned, grabbing his hand and tugging off the engagement ring, replacing it with the gold band, as the fans screamed, going insane in the background. Distantly, Pete was aware of Joe, jumping around wildly and riffing it up on his guitar, as well as Andy, who was doing complicated drum solos that seemed to reverberate along with the rush of blood in his veins, but his world had narrowed to Patrick, eyes full of unshed tears, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Pete's.   
"Is that a yes, then?"   
"Like you need to ask, asshole. Of course it's a fucking yes, it'll always be a fucking yes, you dumbass. I love you."   
And wow, Pete needed to hear that, apparently, because it felt like his chest was going to burst, and fireworks were going off in hid veins, sending tingles up his spine.   
"I fucking called it, guys! Stating it for the record! I called it the fuck out from a mile away! From twelve years away, motherfuckers!"   
"Thanks, Joe! You're psychic, asshole!"  
"No problem!"  
Then Andy was throwing down his drumsticks, running over to them and picking them both up, throwing them over his shoulders like so many pillows and sprinting around the stage yelling, because Joe had predicted this, but hadn't Joe also predicted that Andy got to be a bridesmaid at their spring wedding, and did he get to wear a flower crown? He grabbed Joe somewhere along the way, before tripping magnificently, and they were all collapsing, giggling, into a heap, elbows and knees and flailing limbs digging into soft flesh. And Pete's cheeks hurt from grinning so much, but in that moment, he swore he was the happiest man in the world.   
  
-  
  
Later, in the cool, dark backstage after the show ended in chaos, Pete would stop Joe, lay a gentle hand on his arm and say, "Thanks." And Joe would reply mildly, but with no end of satisfaction, "No problem. I called it, though." And Pete would nod, and smile, and Joe would shove him gently, "Go be with your husband."   
"He is that now, isn't he? Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?" But he'd go, stars in his eyes and love in his heart, while Joe stayed, thinking, curls of smoke drifting up to mingle with the cool breeze, waiting, until Andy came up behind him, wrapped his arms around Joe, smiling wide, and tugged him away to their ride back to the hotel.

But that was later, and right now, Fall Out Boy was a joyful mess of arms and legs and bodies still tangled up onstage, and none of them could think of a place they'd rather be. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the guys' superpowers are as follows (quoted from the author): Pete can see dead dudes, Joe is psychic, Andy has super-strength, and Patrick has the unfortunate ability to fall through solid walls/floors when surprised/alarmed. Poor kid kinda gets the short end of the stick there, I know.


End file.
